Everything Will Be All Right
by Icicle Raindream
Summary: Sometimes the words needed to hear are better left unsaid.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything of As The World Turns. I also do not own anything connected to The Killers.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the song "Everything Will Be Alright" by The Killers. I really felt that the chorus of the song related well to the situation. Consequently, if you want to play the song during the scene with Luke and Noah in their living room, please do. :-) Also, Faith's middle name was given to me by my sister Luna-sempai - if you've read the first chapter of her ATWT story "Horiya", then you know that she delights in coming up with names for characters. :-) Thanks, sis!

I really didn't want to do this to Luke, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. :-) Small warning: this fic contains a moderately descriptive love scene. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Everything Will Be All Right

I don't remember much about the service.

The minister was there and his mouth was moving, but my brain wasn't registering any words. Or sounds.

What I do remember was a collection of pictures in my head that, if they had been presented as a slide show later, to an audience who had not been there to witness them firsthand, would only have been described as stupid. One of the most life-altering days that had ever occurred in my twenty years on Earth, and I could only remember the stupid things.

Like how green the grass was. How it shone emerald in the sun that was blazing overhead. And why wouldn't the sun be shining on a day like today? Why wouldn't it be bathing us in its heat?

And how pink the roses were, against the mahogany on which they had been carefully and lovingly placed. They were vibrant, hot pink, looking as though if you touched them, their petals would burn you. They might have burned me, if I had been the one to hold them.

And how small Natalie was, sitting in her chair next to me. I could make out the velvety texture of her black dress from the corner of my eye. Her Mary Janes reflected the sun, the buckle piercing silver. And how soft the ruffle of her socks looked, the delicate white lace that lined her ankles, where her small feet hung off the chair, not even able to reach the ground.

I was clutching her little hand so tightly in mine that I was sure I was hurting her, but she said nothing to me of it. Her hair hung in her face, her little fingers turned red within the grip of mine. She watched with the rest of us as we lowered the coffin into the ground and said our last goodbyes.

As we walked back to the car, Natalie still clutched within my grasp, I could make out Noah's touch on my back. I hadn't spoken a word to him all morning, and he hadn't tried to change my mind about that decision. He had merely been there for me; first he had been an open ear, then he had been a steadying force, and now he was my guide. I wouldn't have seen the car if it had come up onto the grass and assaulted me.

As we slid into the leather backseats, Natalie curled into my lap wordlessly, her hand never leaving mine. Noah somehow managed to get the two of us in, and then appeared on the other side of the car, on my left, where he slid in against me. I rested my head on his shoulder for the entire ride back home, never once hearing the engine start, never hearing the tires scratching against the gravel of the street, never hearing the soft classical music wafting from the radio. I had gone deaf to all those useless noises; the only thing I could hear now was my own inner anguish.

*

Whoever decided that after a funeral, people should come back to your house and eat had obviously never experienced the death of a family member. I wished I knew who it was that had come up with this rule, so that I could knock the living daylights out of him. I know that it was supposed to be a nice gesture, to have your family and friends surrounding you at a time when you needed them more than anything, but if I heard my mother sobbing at another one of those lovely stories your extended family tells to supposedly lift your spirits about your dead relative _one more time_ today, I was going to lose it. I knew she blamed herself, and I also knew that she shouldn't.

So I hid.

There were plenty of people milling about my parents' living room. Everyone had been to the service and now they were eating finger sandwiches and talking amongst themselves in whispered tones, holding small plastic glasses of boxed wine. This wasn't intermission at the goddamned opera. It was the day my sister – Faith Anastasia Snyder - my mother's first joy in a daughter, had been placed in the ground.

So I found myself in the kitchen, away from everyone else. No one seemed to notice that my presence was missing from the living room, and that suited me just fine. Since the day of the frantic phone call, from when I had been sitting in my mother's office perusing through contracts for the Foundation, I hadn't been able to look my mom in the eye. I knew she blamed herself, and I knew she thought I blamed her too, because I hadn't touched her since I'd hung up the phone with her. The fact that Noah and I had moved into our summer sublet a month ago had provided me with a safe haven in which I did not have to face my family every day, and I had fully abused that fact till now.

But it still remained that this wasn't her fault. They call them accidents for a reason, right? Because no one _plans_ to lose someone they care about. And how could my mother have known? When Faith had asked if she could wait in the car while Mom stopped in at Al's to pick up their dinner order, how could she have known? She wasn't responsible for the truck in the crowded parking lot. She wasn't responsible for the fact that Faith was so small that the driver hadn't even seen her in the road.

My mom wasn't responsible for the fact that my sister was dead.

I reached for the cabinet in front of me, where I knew Dad kept his Scotch. Fumbling, I opened the next cabinet and snatched out a glass, any glass, and shakily I placed it on the counter before me. The Scotch was right where I knew it would be, gleaming in front of my face, the smooth amber liquid beckoning from within the glass container. I grabbed it out of the cabinet and twisted the cap off quickly.

"Luke?"

My name came from the doorway, from a voice that I knew better than my own. He didn't sound angry or surprised, and his tone was neither gentle nor condescending. What I took from his voice only led me to believe that he was worried.

But Noah made no move to stop me. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, facing me, still wearing his black suit jacket, and watched as I poured a good amount of Scotch from my father's bottle into my glass. I hadn't taken a drink yet, but couldn't feel my fingers all the same, even as I hastily set the bottle back onto the counter.

"Luke."

Still not angry. No admonishment, no yelling, nothing. He didn't even _move._ I raised the glass to my lips.

Then slammed it down a second later. Scotch splashed over the rim onto the counter, coating my right hand.

I leaned forward into the porcelain countertop, my fingernails scratching against the cold surface. I stared into the open cabinet in front of me, then squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on forcing air into my lungs. If my mother happened to walk in right this second, I'd probably send her into cardiac arrest.

"Take it," I whispered to him through clenched teeth. "Noah…just take it. Please."

Noah's shoes scraped against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. In a flash, he was by my side, his right hand coming to rest on my lower back. He grabbed the glass off the counter and dumped its remaining contents into the sink, then replaced the cap on the bottle and closed it within the cabinet with a bang. Then he turned to me, his eyebrows knitted in concern, and slowly pulled me to him, my face resting against his shoulder.

A small burst of quiet laughter came from the living room, and I shut my eyes against the soft material of Noah's jacket. "Can we get out of here now?" I begged him, resting my forehead against his steady frame. "I want to go home."

Noah cinched his arms tighter around me. "Okay, Luke," he replied softly. "Let's go." He pulled back to study my face, and as I looked up into his crystal blue eyes, I saw it. I knew the words that were on his mind.

I shook my head at him and placed my fingers gently over his mouth. "Please don't say it," I whispered. He nodded, understanding my plea. I couldn't handle the words right now.

_Everything will be all right._

*

When I woke up from my dreamless nap that afternoon, Noah wasn't in bed with me, though he had initially been when I'd declared I was tired and wanted to rest. I found him in our tiny living room, facing the mantelpiece, leaning with one hand against it.

The sun had gone down while I had slept, and there was one candle burning above the fireplace. Save for that, there was no light in the room. Noah turned when he heard me shuffle in, my socks scuffing against the carpet. I stopped at the edge of the couch, resting one hand against the back of the cushions. We stared at each other, Noah's tender face bathed in soft golden candlelight.

The nap had done nothing to ease whatever I had been looking for it to ease. I was neither tired nor rested, asleep nor awake. My brain only held words that rhymed with "Faith", "sister", "gone", and the nap had done nothing to purge these syllables from my head. I felt as though I had been anesthetized in bed, as if whenever I lay down I slipped underneath a blanket of black unconsciousness that nothing could break through. That was how sleep felt for me now.

Noah reached his left hand out to me then. His eyes were still gleaming with concern, tinged with sadness. He had been as much a part of this family as I had been. My loss was his loss, but no one had been there to pick up the pieces for him.

I made my way into his waiting arms. As they locked around my waist, Noah settled his head against mine, his nose pressing into the crook of my neck. He squeezed me to him, my face buried into the softness of his sweater. I wrapped my arms around his neck and Noah began to gently sway, rocking me slowly to a beat that drummed only within him.

Images flashed through my mind in the darkness of the room. Faith in a pale pink prom gown that sparkled with sequins, my mother waving to her as she left the house, both with smiles on their faces. Faith in a black graduation robe, holding her diploma up in adoration for my family to see after the ceremony. Faith walking down the aisle with my father proudly escorting her to her waiting groom, her wedding dress glowing in the sunlight streaming through the church windows. Faith presenting her newborn to us from her hospital bed for the first time in her life.

These were all memories my sister would never get to make.

And I swear, I didn't feel it coming. Even though I had felt that I had been taken prisoner in my own body, that there was no room for me inside of it and that my body could only harbor pain, I still didn't expect the rush of tears. When it happened, I realized I'd already lost control, and I let it ravage me instead of trying to fight it.

I clawed my fingers into Noah's shoulders as the hot tears effortlessly streamed down my face. I soaked the right shoulder of his sweater, my fingers never once lessening their grip. Noah simply held me tighter as we continued to sway, making no mention of my current behavior. We stayed in that position, in front of the mantelpiece, the single candle burning, as I wept for all the life experiences my sister would miss.

* * *

I looked up at Noah through the darkness. His body was positioned half over mine, his hands on either side of my pillow. I had his full attention as he looked steadily at my face, as we studied each other in the moonlight shining through our bedroom window. He waited for me to repeat myself.

"I don't want to hurt anymore."

His left arm slackened, bending at the elbow, bringing his face closer to mine.

"I want to feel like myself again."

His right arm bent; the tip of his nose was now brushing my forehead.

"Make me feel like me again…"

Noah needed no other invitation. We hadn't made love once in the past weeks, and while I had been burying it underneath my pain, Noah had not. He had been facing not only his own dissatisfaction, but mine as well, coupled with my emotional turmoil. The poor guy had been living behind a strong front, a front he put up to keep me from going completely insane with my grief.

But tonight, the grief subsided.

Noah kissed my forehead, gently but with conviction. His lips brushed over my nose as I lifted my mouth to meet his, and his kiss remained gentle but there was an urgency in his actions, as if he had been waiting all day to kiss me. I returned his urgency, feeling his lips anew, recognizing the wet warmth as I slid my hands up his back, pulling him closer to me.

One of the best things about Noah was his body heat; it made him undeniably sexy for a reason I couldn't pinpoint or explain. Even in the dead of winter, he burned like a furnace and I loved that about him. I pulled him even closer as his lips traveled from my mouth to my chin, then fluidly down into the crook of my neck.

I let him pull my T-shirt over my head as he continued to kiss my neck with long, drawn-out motions, his tongue leaving a damp trail across my skin. He suckled gently at my collarbone and I raised my chin to allow him deeper access, my breath starting to hitch in my throat. Noah's hips were pressing against mine now and the friction of our bodies was beginning to make my brain glaze over.

I held his head as he kissed my chest, sifting my fingers through his silken hair. He gently teased one nipple with his tongue as he slid his hands underneath me, grasping my shoulders. His breaths were coming out heavy and ragged between his lips.

I sat up against my pillow as Noah shifted his left leg over my hips, straddling me, my weight pressing back against his hands. Our eyes connected for a second, then Noah reached adeptly for the waistband of my pajama pants. I arched my back to allow him to slip the fabric down, my one hand gripping his upper arm, the other steadying us against the mattress. The cool air of our bedroom hit my naked body for only a second before Noah lay me back against my pillow and covered my body with his.

Our mouths found each other and I held his face to mine greedily, drinking him in. I was so in love with this man that my chest physically ached; my stomach was flip-flopping in the most sensual way. I felt so vulnerable but so taken care of that Noah would have been able to do whatever he wanted with me tonight and I wouldn't have complained once.

Before I knew it, our bodies were pressing together, skin to skin. My chest was heaving now, Noah's eyes were burning blue, half-lidded as he took my face in. I stared back at him, still gripping his upper arms, reveling in the pressure of his body on mine.

Our eyes stayed locked as we positioned ourselves comfortably, then Noah slowly kissed me, his nose brushing my cheek. We joined, Noah taking care to be gentle, and I gasped into his shoulder with satisfaction. It had been far too long.

I held onto his waist as Noah began to move, slowly at first, then gaining speed. I couldn't think or breathe as we fell into our familiar rhythm; I just grabbed at his skin with my hands, trying to hold him to me and propel his motions at the same time. I squeezed my eyes shut as his mouth grazed my forehead, his warm breath breezing over my face. Noah was an expert at keeping time, his hips a veritable metronome that had we been standing, would have left me crumpled on the carpet for weeks afterward without the use of my legs.

Consequently, it didn't take long for us to reach climax. My vision turned into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors behind my lids as I shuddered beneath him, my nails digging into his sides. He pressed a kiss to my forehead after his release, and we lay still, panting hard. His skin was slick beneath my palms.

Noah slid easily over to my left, to rest on his side. I felt paralyzed by pleasure for the time being; the only thing I could do was heave for breath. Our eyes met and he smiled at me, his left hand smoothing my hair back from my forehead. He moved closer, his front pressing into my left side, and he chuckled under his breath as I continued to stare at him with wide eyes.

I swallowed hard and snuggled closer to him, my breathing finally starting to slow. He hooked his left hand around my waist and kissed the top of my head before settling his cheek against my pillow.

We fell asleep entwined, my hand clutching at his arm, our faces resting next to each other. It only took one person, and one person alone, to make me feel like myself again; to make sure that I knew I was not alone and that I would be loved, no matter the circumstances.

*

That morning, I had a dream about Faith, the first time I'd dreamed about her since she had passed away. It was more than a dream, I realized, it was a memory that had been trapped within my subconscious for so long, I had actually forgotten about it.

Summer at Snyder Pond had always been the best. Before Noah had entered my life, I'd spent many a day down at the pond with my sisters, enjoying the heat and the water, and enjoying my family. Faith especially loved when we went swimming together, because I would let her do all the things Dad wouldn't let her do. Some days, I had been the instigator _and_ her accomplice. Like this day.

"Are you ready?" I heard myself ask her.

Faith smiled up at me, her wet hair matted happily to her head. The water was up to my waist, coming up to her chin. She shrieked with delight as I locked my fingers together palms up, then bent down slightly and offered my hands to her. She'd been asking about this since we'd first mentioned going to the pond earlier that day.

She steadied her hands on both my shoulders and slipped her left foot into my palms. Her bright brown eyes zeroed in on mine as she counted with me, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. We bounced in preparation with each number.

"One…" we chorused together. Her fingers dug into my skin.

"_Two_…" The smile that lit her face in anticipation could have illuminated all of Old Town in the dead of night.

"THREE!"

Using all the strength I could muster, I flung my palms up into the air and watched as she sailed upwards and then flipped backwards into the water. When she resurfaced, she was laughing so hard she couldn't speak. I laughed right along with her as she hugged me and then tried to dunk me.

I'd never seen her so alive before, even when she had been standing right next to me.

*

Later that morning, I found myself on my mother's doorstep. Without me so much as having to lift my hand to the doorknob, it turned, and my mother faced me, standing in the doorframe with an expression of sorrowful relief on her face.

I didn't say anything. I just pulled my mother into my arms and held her for an indeterminable amount of time. I had never needed a hug from my mother so much as I had needed it today, and the feeling was mutual.

_Everything will be all right…_


End file.
